


The Coffee Shop on the Corner

by QuantumPsyche



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, M/M, Romance, prucan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuantumPsyche/pseuds/QuantumPsyche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew Williams is an unnoticed college student looking for a job. After a rather hectic job interview with his cheery Spanish boss, he gets the job, and some other adventures that he didn't realize he wanted.</p><p>[On Hiatus]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I try to update every Sunday, and fail.

# Chapter 1

He stood near the corner of street, staring at the stoplight three stores down from him. He flexed his fingers, then started tapping lightly on the side of his thigh. He bit his lower lip. He could do this. He could do this. The newly opened coffee shop stood across the street, all he had to do was press the 'walk' button at the stoplight, cross the street, and then walk in and ask for a job. That's it, that's all. Adjusting his glasses, and heart beat rising, he stepped forward. 

One step, two steps, right, left, right, left. Matthew Williams focused on his feet, trying to block out the thoughts that told him to turn back this instant. He was almost at the crosswalk. He look up and pushed the button, and a minute later the image of the walking man appeared, cuing him to cross the street. He stepped off of the sidewalk. 

He felt the eyes on him, willing him to walk faster. Of course, they had the right to do so. They have places to be and people to see and Matthew was holding them up by walking across the street right at this moment. There could be a woman pregnant, her water already broken and her spouse in the midst of driving to the hospital, and he's holding them up . He could be causing her _physical pain_ just because he chose to cross the street right at this moment! Naturally, this was an exaggeration, and, considering the nearest hospital was some ways from here, any good spouse wouldn't use this route to get there, and Matthew knew this, but that didn't stop him from practically sprinting across the street. 

He reached the other sidewalk. Now was the trial of actually going into the shop. He wasn't scared, he's had interviews before, but the act of actually going in the shop, to ask someone for something. To take a chunk of that person's day and use that portion of time that you just abruptly stole and direct their attention to you, and then after that imposition, you have the gall to ask them for something. No matter what people say, to Matthew Williams, that would always be considered rude. And not an excuse to not talk to people, either. 

He sighed, leaning against the stoplight pole, looking longingly toward the small coffee shop. Simply named “Cafe,” the rich brown exterior paired with the glass windows and doors gave you a homely sense, with a dash of retro. The “FOR HIRE” sign hang taped to the inside of the door, beckoning Matthew. And so, finally answering the calling, he took a deep breath and stepped forward. Right, left, right, left. 

He was right in front of the glass door. He couldn't stop, and he knew it would have been strange to see a lanky, blond youth awkwardly stop in front of the glass door, hand hovering over the door handle. He was already there, why go back? The ball was already in motion. _You can do this_ , he thought. He twisted the door handle, and stepped inside. 

The bitter smell of roasted coffee beans hit him first, with the sweet smells of baked goods and sweeter drinks gently washing over him afterward, as if apologizing for the first wave of aroma. He looked around, quickly got his bearings. The counter stood straight ahead of him, with round tables for customers to his left and right. There was a chalkboard with the day's specials to the right of the entrance. Soft lights hung from the ceiling, and the walls and the floors were all painted a warm caramel color. One word came into Matthew's mind when he stepped into: _Warmth._

There were only two people in the shop at the time, Matthew noted. A young couple off the side in the corner, laughing. Matthew smiled. At least those two would be too preoccupied with each other to notice his interview. He stepped on over to the counter, and seeing no one, gave the little bell a ring. 

Nothing happened at first, so he took to examining the counter. Sandwiched between the two displays, which showcased an array of baked goods that made Matthew's mouth water, there was the register, and beside that, a little tip jar with a yellow bird crudely taped to it. The speech bubble said “Give money to feed Gilbird!” in big, blocky letters. _Why Gilbird, of all names,_ thought Matthew. The jar itself contained some change and a dollar, and Matthew busied himself trying to mentally count how much when a man burst from the back room door. 

“Oh! I'm sorry for the wait! I just couldn't leave the scones alone. If you take them out too early, they've gone soft, but take them out too late, they'll be like coals, haha! My name is Antonio, by the way. Antonio Carriedo. You are Matthew, correct?” The sudden onslaught of speech whipped Matthew's head up, a deer-in-headlights expression appearing. Antonio smiled, while Matthew nodded weakly. This bright and talkative fellow caught him completely off guard. 

“Ah, h-how did you know my name?” Matthew asked, uncertainly at first, but then gaining strength. Antonio at this point had his back turned to Matthew, fiddling with the coffee maker. Matthew heard a sigh, and saw that Antonio was shaking his head, tutting. Antonio turned back to him, his smile reappearing. 

“You called a week ago, remember? To ask if we were hiring?” said Antonio, smile still there, though it seemed a bit forced to Matthew. The other man's response suddenly registered in Matthew's brain, and he immediately felt embarrassed. _Of course you called him! How else would he know?_ , thought Matthew, angry at himself. He recalled bitterly how he paced the room in front of his cell phone, mustering up the courage to make the call. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” 

“No worries.” Another worried glance to the coffee maker. “Do you have any experience in a cafe?” 

Matthew's mind spun as he tried to take in information at the same time as responding. Antonio had curling brown hair, and bright green eyes. Maybe an inch or half an inch shorter than him? He had wrinkles around his eyes, the kind from smiling a lot. Maybe he's a really good natured person? And an accent. Spanish? _Wait, he's asked you a question! Answer him!_ Matthew hurriedly groped around in his mind for an answer, becoming increasingly nervous, whilst Antonio stood there, smiling. 

“Uh, not any official experience. My dad owns a bakery, though, and I helped out there,” said Matthew, gruffly. _One question down_. 

“How do you mean? Oh, and just come back here,” added Antonio, motioning towards the lift-up counter. Matthew nodded thanks as Antonio opened it for him, and Antonio shook his head in return. 

“When I was in middle school,” began Matthew, shutting the counter, “I started helping him and bake the bread and pastries, and by high school I had a full time job there. I made most of the breads and cakes we had on display, though the really complicated desserts were still reserved for him. And customers still came, so that's gotta say something. I made most of them from scratch, so I've got experience there.” He looked at Antonio, surprised that the other man was still listening. Antonio was listening intently, actually. The smile was gone, replaced with a mouth slightly agape, a questioning look. Matthew heard a small, sharp intake of breath. He wondered why. 

“I-Is anything wrong?” Matthew asked, a bit worried. Antonio blinked, out of his reverie, and shook his head hurriedly. 

“Oh, no! No, nothing is wrong. Is there any chance...? No, no there probably isn't, hah. Sorry, You just look so familiar...” the other man trailed. The smile had reappeared, though not as bright as before, and was slowly melting off of Antonio's face. A distant look appeared in his green eyes, and Matthew was unsure of what to do. What was happening? The chasm of silence that opened up between them was overwhelming, though Antonio didn't seem to notice it. Should he snap him out of it? Wouldn't that be rude, though? How much time had passed? Matthew felt as though it had been hours, though in reality he knew it had only been a minute. He bit his lower lip. 

Antonio shook his head slightly, seeming to have come back from his thoughts. He laughed, though this laugh was different, Matthew noticed. Twinged with sadness, melancholic. 

“Ah, when you get to my age, you just become so nostalgic! Remembering lost friends, for instance.” A pause accompanied with a hollow smile. He clapped his hands. “But that's all in the past! You said you had experience in the cafe, right? Do you know how to make a latte?” 

Matthew nodded, slowly. Antonio's smile _seemed_ genuine, but Matthew still felt a sense of dissonance. The other man was reminded of something, and Matthew was the one that helped him remember. Whatever the memory was, it most likely did not directly concern him. He landed his eyes on the coffeemaker. 

Leaving Matthew leaning against the counter, Antonio approached the coffeemaker, and pushed a button. He turned to say something to Matthew, when the coffeemaker started clanking and spurting, foamy bubbles coming from the slot. Antonio leapt into action, trying to stop the flow of crème, yelling in Spanish, while Matthew frantically looked for a towel. After finding one, he made to cleaning the floor, when Antonio snatched it and tried to stop the flow from the machine. The couple by the window stood up, worried expressions on their faces. Matthew turned red from embarrassment. Suddenly, he had an idea. His eyes searched the back of the coffeemaker and found what they were looking for. He grabbed the plug and pulled. 

The machine stopped making noise and spewing milk. He looked at Antonio. The Spaniard was sopping wet, the towel having done nearly nothing. His shirt was soaked in the front, and his hair was dripping. _How did it even get into his hair?_ Matthew realized his own jacket had been stained. He took it off and draped it over the counter. Antonio tried to brush off some of the milk, to no avail. 

“Are you guys alright?” said the woman. Matthew yelped. In the midst of the milk-disaster, he had not noticed her approach them. She was leaning forward over the counter, looking at the wet floor, her head probably a few inches away from Matthew's chest. She had long brown hair, the mousy kind, and a little flower barrette. Pretty. There was a sense of felicity in her voice and actions. Matthew suddenly felt eyes boring into him, and he jumped back a bit in surprise when he saw the man she was with shooting daggers at him. Matthew, after his initial reaction, couldn't help but stare at his mole. 

“Somewhat,” sighed Antonio, exhaling out of his nose, a small dry laugh escaping his lips. Matthew watched him get a paper towel roll from under the counter, and start wiping the coffeemaker counter. Matthew ripped a paper towel and helped him clean. 

“The machine was fine when I moved here, it's just recently that it's been going bad,” said Antonio. The woman nodded in understanding, then bade goodbye and good luck. Matthew noticed that, once the man turned to the door, she slipped a tenner into the tip jar, and followed the man out. Matthew raised an eyebrow, feeling a smile coming on. 

Once they were done cleaning the mess, Antonio made a quick call and announced that he was going to take the coffeemaker to the repair. He knew a guy that was handy with mechanics. Antonio locked the register, and told Matthew to unplug and carry the coffeemaker to his car. Matthew complied, and once the broken machine was in the back of Antonio's car, instead of telling Matthew to come back later to finish the interview, Antonio told him to keep watch on the store. 

“The register's locked, and you seem like a good boy anyway. I've also a friend on the way, so there's that. Good luck, _amigo_!” Antonio added, as he strapped himself in, and turned on the engine. “Oh! There are aprons in the back room, on your left.” And with that final note, Antonio Carriedo was gone. 

Matthew watched him leave, and walked back to the store, unbelieving that this man actually entrusted his shop to him. He raised his eyebrows and sighed, opening the door and letting the aromas wash over him once again. He opened the counter, and headed towards the back room. There were two, actually. One led to the kitchen, the other to some shelves with supplies. He went towards the shelves, and after finding an apron, he realized that the two doors just led to different sides of the same room. He felt a corner of his lips upturn. 

He put on the red apron, and realized there was a mirror next to the apron hook, albeit a bit grimy. He took the sleeve of his pullover and polished it. A lanky, wavy blonde, confused-looking college student looked back at him. Seemed about right. 

He went back outside, and waited behind the counter. He stood there, shoulders stiff, unsure of what to do. _What if there's a customer?_ His eyes suddenly widened. _What if there's a customer? What if there's a customer?!_ He thought frantically. What was he going to do? They'd speak to him, and he'd have to reply. The cash register's locked, where would he put the money? He'd look stupid if he just took their money and put it under the counter. And what if they needed change? _What if they wanted coffee?_ He'd have no choice but to deny them their request for coffee. _What if they got mad?_

Matthew leaned on the counter, his hands on the edges. He took a deep breath, and cleared the exaggerated thoughts. He'd just have to deal with whatever happens. _Besides_ , he thought, _this place only had two customers, and they've already left, so if it's that barren usually, there should be no problem, right?_

Just then, Matthew heard the sound of the door opening, and turned to see a silver haired man entering.

_Just my luck._


	2. Job

 The silver-haired man looked from side to side as he entered. Matthew's eyes widened as the man kept looking to his left, and headed towards the table nearest Matthew, and sat down, his eyes not straying. Matthew stepped back a bit.

 

He didn't say anything, just kept staring towards the left, where the couple had been. Matthew, after realizing the man didn't notice him and therefore will not talk to him, regarded him. The deep red eyes and silver hair made it clear he was an albino. He was muscular, that he could tell through the black T-shirt, but he could also see the beginnings of a stomach. There were faint wrinkles, just the beginnings, on his face, around the watchful eyes, the chapped lips. He was older than Matthew, not old enough to be his father, but near that age. Then again, he recalled dryly, his father had him in his teens. Maybe close to his age then.

 

He had reversed his chair before sitting in it, crossing his arms at the top of it and burying his chin in his forearm, resting his head and intently watching the table where the couple had been. Matthew didn't know what to do. _Who was this man? Why isn't he doing anything?_ People come into cafes to order stuff, right? What was he doing?

 

Matthew plucked up the courage to say something. “Um...”

 

“Whoa! What the fuck?”

 

The man had nearly fallen out of his chair in the exclamation. Matthew recoiled. He turned back to see the strange man looking at him, an incredulous expression on his face, like Matthew had appeared out of thin air.

 

“Who the hell are you?” asked the man, accusingly, squinting his eyes. He stepped closer to the counter.

 

Matthew stepped back. “I, uh, I...” _Dammit ,what did you come here for?!_ “Um, I'm Matthew, I came for a job interview and the coffeemaker broke so Ant- Mr. Carriedo went to go fix it and left me in charge.” _Breathe, breathe._

 

The man stood there, registering what Matthew said. Matthew noticed something. _I'm taller than him._ Matthew resisted the urge to smile, though it would have come out as a grimace anyway. _If worst comes to worst, I could fight him, maybe?_ Another look at those muscles convinced him otherwise.

 

“So _that's_ what Toni was talking about on the phone,” muttered the man, his voice filled with realization. He looked up at Matthew and cracked the biggest and most crooked grin he'd ever seen, and started laughing. Matthew tried to smile, but he was still a bit off put from the sudden change of countenance on the other man.

 

“He just rambled on about Eliza and coffee and I had to come to the shop, so I did. I didn't know he hired someone. Didn't even see you, man,” laughed the man. Matthew gave a small, awkward laugh. The silver haired man looked up at him, and stuck out his hand.

 

“I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt, the awesomest person you'll ever meet.”

 

Matthew hesitated, and shook it slowly. “Matthew Williams.”

 

Gilbert made a noise of disdain, and muttered, though just loud enough for Matthew to hear, “People just don't recognize awesome these days.”

 

“You screamed and fell out of your chair.”

 

“Can you _blame_ me? That was some ninja shit you did right there! How the hell do you do that?”

 

In spite of himself, Matthew found himself smiling. Gilbert had gone back to sitting down, grumbling about invisibility, and started staring back at the table where the couple had been seated. Matthew raised his eyebrows.

 

“The couple already left, you know,” he said, remembering the earlier statement about an “Eliza.”

 

“Wait, what? How do _you_ know about Elizabeta and Roderich?” Gilbert looked up, confused.

 

Matthew shook his head. “I don't, though I guess Elizabeta's the brunette with the flower in her hair--” A nod from Gilbert. “--and Roderich's the one with the mole?” Gilbert nodded again.

 

“Yeah, they left some time before Mr. Carriedo did, when the coffeemaker started malfunctioning. The girl's nice, she left ten dollars to feed your 'Gilbird.' The dude gave me daggers for even looking at her, though.”

 

Gilbert laughed loudly. He wiped a tear from his eye. “Yeah, that's Roddy for ye! Ever since they started dating, a guy can't even breathe the same air as Eliza anymore. And yeah,” he added, looking at the tip jar, “yeah, Eliza's a real nice girl.” He had a sad smile on, and seemed to be drifting off into a memory.

 

“You like her?” asked Matthew, leaning on the counter.

 

Gilbert looked up at Matthew. “Mhm, I do. I really do. More than that, maybe. I almost had her once, too. Almost.” Gilbert sighed.

 

Matthew didn't know what to say. Clumsily, he reached over and lightly punched Gilbert in the arm. “There are more fish in the sea,” he said, slowly but hopefully.

 

Gilbert, eyebrows raised, looked at the Matthew's fist, still suspended near him, and then back up to Matthew. “That was really awkward.”

 

Matthew slumped onto the counter, his elbows holding up his head, his hands slightly cupping his face. He blew some loose strands of hair of his face. “I'm full of awkward, so screw it.”

 

Gilbert smiled crookedly, and laughed.

 

* * * * *

 

An hour passed, and only a few customers came in, which suited both Matthew and Gilbert. They had started out talking about Antonio and the shop, of which, once they got to the point of Matthew's “invisibility,” they quickly veered to the topic of pirates versus ninjas, Matthew staunchly supporting pirates and Gilbert to ninjas. And they spent the hour like this, talking about anything and everything. Matthew was in the midst of telling a particularly funny story involving his 8 year old self, his father, some batter, and an oven when the front door opened.

 

Antonio stepped into the shop, looking bright-eyed and with change of dress. Gilbert got up with a, “Toni!” and swiftly shook his hand, and then turned it into a hug. Matthew smiled.

 

“Where've you been?” asked Gilbert, releasing Antonio.

 

“At your brother's,” said Antonio, flashing a smile and waving a hello to Matthew. Matthew waved back, and made room for him as he opened the counter.

 

“He fixes cars, he can fix coffeemakers, right?” continued Antonio, once he was behind the counter. “So I asked him if he could, and he said that once he's done with today's work, he'd take a look at what's wrong with it. It'd be a shame to lose it though.”

 

“Why?” Gilbert said, indignantly. “Thing was a piece of crap, anyway.” Once, when he was unplugging it, he had accidentally touched the metal part of the plug and burned his finger, and, though it was not in any way the machine's fault, he did not like the coffeemaker after that.

 

“I liked it,” pouted Antonio, half-smiling. “I was gonna name her Rosie.”

 

“Why Rosie?” asked Canada, grinning.

 

“And why is it a _her_? It looks more like a man to me,” said Gilbert, the crooked smile reappearing.

 

“Well maybe _she's_ had a tough time and you should respect _her_ life choices, _Gilly_ ,” replied Antonio, pointedly, with a goofy grin. He walked, no, _sashayed_ , back to the kitchen door, nose in the air, and cackling all the way, leaving Gilbert sputtering and Matthew giggling.

 

“Yeah, _Gilly,_ give some _respect_ ,” teased Matthew. Gilbert scrunched his nose.

 

“I'm gonna fucking punch you,” said Gilbert, and, holding back a smile, raised his fists in front of him.

 

“Bring it on, Jack Frost,” replied Matthew cockily, mimicking the pose.

 

“Oh, that is _it_ \--” Gilbert began, ready to grab a laughing Matthew by the shirt collar, when Antonio poked his head in.

 

“Oh! Matthew! That reminds me, you can go now! But come back tomorrow as soon as possible, and we'll work out a shift schedule. Deal?”

 

“O-oh, yeah, okay,” said Matthew, nodding quickly. “Is it alright if I drop by in the morning?”

 

“Sure, sure, just not before eight.” And with that, Antonio disappeared back into the kitchen. Matthew took off his apron, and before he could go to the storage room, Gilbert spoke up.

 

“S'alright, I'll take that,” he said, reaching out for the apron.

 

“You sure?” asked Matthew. Gilbert nodded.

 

“You get going, I got this,” said Gilbert, flashing a crooked smile. Matthew shrugged and gave it to him. He opened the counter and got to the other side and headed towards the door.

 

“You head home safe, Mattie,” called Gilbert. Matthew turned around to face Gilbert and bumped into the chalkboard menu. Gilbert's eyes widened as Matthew sheepishly laughed it off. He gave a little wave and exited the shop.

 

Quickly, Gilbert threw aside the apron, and ran into the kitchen.

 

“ _Oh my fucking shit he looks almost exactly like Francis!_ ” exclaimed Gilbert, all in one breath. Antonio, silently kneading dough, nodded.

 

“When did you realize it?” replied Antonio, staring at the dough.

 

“I dunno, like when we started talking? He sounds so much like him,” replied Gilbert, shaking his head.

 

“Except for the fact that their personalities are quite different, I'd have to agree with you.”

 

“But I mean, it _can't_ be right? Francis would have to have cloned himself or something,” said Gilbert, arms folded, leaning against the doorway.

 

Antonio sighed. “Do you remember _why_ Francis moved away?” he asked, looking directly at Gilbert, a serious expression on his face, something seldom seen and which made Gilbert uncomfortable.

 

“I-I don't know, something about that Jane girl, or something...” replied Gilbert, trailing, struggling to remember.

 

Antonio stared at him until realization dawned on him.

 

“You don't mean...” gasped Gilbert.

 

“And her name was Jeanne, thank you very much,” said Antonio, curtly. He focused on the dough once more.

 

“I mean, it can't be...” muttered Gilbert, turning away to put the apron back. _Right?_

 

 


	3. Francis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the French. And not updating. I hit a block. I have all these ideas for this, it's just where in the time frame do I put them, you know? Have a good day, and thank you for taking the time for reading this!

 Matthew walked out of the cafe, breathing in the brisk, evening air. The sun was nearly gone, the remaining throes of orange and scarlet streaking across the sky. Colors blending into one another, the big buildings covered in a warm glow. Matthew stopped and stared, putting his hands in his jacket pockets. He _had_ seen better sunsets; he grew up in a quaint little town, at least a forty minute drive from the city, right near a small forest. One of his favorite memories was from a sixth grade camping trip, when his class had just arrived. The sun was already sinking into the earth, and Matthew stood amazed at the different colors, basically dancing in the sky, and had woken up early just to see it again with the sunrise.

 

But city sunsets were special in their own way; there was just something about the way that gray buildings became these huge lanterns, flames of light flickering on them, and the less than clean air seemingly became crisp and clean. He watched until the sun was completely gone, and started walking.

 

His apartment was only a few blocks away from the cafe, and he got back there in less than twenty minutes. He got out his keys and unlocked the main gate, and soon was bounding up the stairs to the second floor. Two rooms occupied this floor, 2B and 2A. 2A belonged to an apathetic young man, who kept much to himself. Matthew didn't know much about him, nor did he make an effort to try, though sometimes late at night, he would hear someone singing drunkenly outside their doors until his neighbor let him in. He wondered if the stranger would be back tonight. Matthew turned to his left, apartment 2A, and unlocked the door.

 

Darkness greeted him. He flipped the switch that turned on the main light, and his apartment came into view. His living room consisted of a couch, a TV, and a small wooden table with a couple of chairs next to the adjoined kitchen. A small hallway on his right led to his bedroom and a bathroom. He emptied his pockets on the dining table, and slumped onto the couch. He rubbed his temples.

 

Today, all in all, had been a good day. He'd gotten the job, through a rather eclectic interview, and he hadn't offended anyone or made some sort of social faux pas. Antonio was a cheery soul, and was just generally nice to be around. Gilbert as well. Matthew had enjoyed his company. In spite of their rocky first impression, Matthew hoped they could become friends.

 

But he was tired. The day's events had their strain on him, and all he wanted now was to study for a few hours before going to sleep. He rose to go to his room, but then he remembered he had to call his father.

 

He walked over to the old wall phone and dialed the number. While it was ringing, Matthew pulled up a chair and sat down next to the phone, careful to not stretch the cord too much. Suddenly, the ringing stopped and a voice spoke.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hi, Papa.”

 

“ _Matthieu,_ _mon cher!_ ” exclaimed Francis Bonnefoy, into the phone. “ _Comment vas-tu? Comment est votre_ _journée?_ ”

 

“A-ah, _je vais bien_ _, merci, Papa._ How are you?” replied Matthew. Though his father insisted that Matthew speak French with him, as to not forget the language, he was too unfocused right now, and would rather speak English. Francis got the hint.

 

“I'm fine, Matthew, thank you for asking,” said Francis, sighing through his nose, which sounded like static on Matthew's end. Matthew heard a wisp of a laugh coming from the other end, and he could imagine his dad half-smiling. He sounded tired. He'd _been_ sounding tired. Matthew's eyebrows scrunched together.

 

“Are you really, Papa?” asked Matthew, hunched in his seat, focusing on the phone.

 

A sigh. “I've just had a long day, Mathieu.”

 

“Tell me, what's happened?”

 

“Do you remember Mr. Kirkland?”

 

Matthew certainly remembered Mr. Kirkland. Never-at-home father of his best friend, a lot of Matthew's and Alfred's childhood consisted of resenting Mr. Kirkland. Though the father and son's relationship is much better nowadays, back then perpetual thunderstorms hung over the Kirkland household. So much so, before Alfred enlisted in the army, he changed his last name to Jones, his late mother's maiden name. Though Matthew didn't particularly favor Mr. Kirkland (he had a habit of forgetting Matthew even existed), he could understand why Mr. Kirkland didn't want to spend much time with Alfred. Matthew had seen pictures of Elizabeth Jones; there was no doubt that Alfred was her son.

 

But that's all in the past. Matthew could tell from his daily email correspondence with Alfred that his and Mr. Kirkland's relationship has gotten much better. Though that still didn't help Mr. Kirkland's grumpy attitude.

 

“Yeah, I remember him. Alfred's dad, right?” replied Matthew.

 

“Mhm. He came back from England a few days ago. He also came into the bakery today,” answered Francis. Matthew heard another sigh.

 

“And what did he do?” prompted Matthew, narrowing his eyes.

 

“It's more what _I_ did, he didn't do much, I mean--”

 

“What did he say, Papa?” cut off Matthew.  
  


“He ordered a biscotti and coffee, and I gave him that, and told him the price. He looked at his order and said that it was all wrong, but he'd pay me anyway. ' _Frogs_ can only do so much.' He called me a _frog_! Who calls people _frogs_?!” exclaimed Francis. He had started calmly, but had grown increasingly angry. It was almost amusing, and Matthew smiled. He could just imagine his father pacing as far as the phone cord would let him, hand gestures galore.

 

“ _And,_ you know what else he said?” continued Francis, getting louder. “He said that that's what's expected of the French! Expected of the French! _Il est une bâtard stupide!_ ”

Francis paused to breathe. Matthew's eyes widened. Francis continued.

 

“So,” continued Francis, more calmly. “I threw the money back at him, and then took his coffee and threw it all over that _connard_ 's shirt.”

 

Matthew's jaw dropped. “You _didn't_ ,” he said, stifling a laugh.

 

“I did,” replied Francis, a little notch of pride in his voice. “You should have seen him! He was stumbling everywhere and cursing up a storm! Not so much the English gentlemen anymore, haha!”

 

Matthew laughed with him, and soon started going over Matthew's day. He gave Francis a short summary of what happened, toning down his own excitement, and hung up afterward. After a short email to Alfred, he went to his room and started studying. Three hours later, he was asleep.

 

* * * * *

 

A sliver of sunlight shone through the slit between the curtains, and woke Matthew up. Groggily, he got up and checked the time. 7:50. He let himself fall back on the bed. It was a Saturday, who cared.

 

Suddenly, he remembered he was supposed to come to the Cafe. Well, not _supposed_ to, but it'd be polite, right? _Just not before eight!_ He could hear Antonio say.

 

Groaning, he got sat back up on the bed, and then slid his legs onto the floor. After he going to the bathroom and taking a shower, Matthew dug through his pile of clothes. It was a warm day, so he wouldn't need his red jacket. He chose a checkered shirt, unbuttoned to reveal his undershirt, and shorts.

 

After eating a slice of bread, and noting his nearly bare fridge, he was out the door.


End file.
